


Coulrophobic

by Mystradigans



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 17:45:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2660873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystradigans/pseuds/Mystradigans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because Rupert Graves had a job as a clown at some point in his youth.</p><p>Mycroft is terrified of clowns. He can't help it- he always has been but the idea of their creepy painted faces makes him want to run and hide. He'd never even have gone to the Circus if it wasn't for the fact that Sherlock was so excited. But how will his perspective change when he meets a real life Clown called Greg?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coulrophobic

**Author's Note:**

> By Emily. Sorry I sort of vanished off the face of the Internet, I've been really ill. This may or may not be reflected in my writing.

Sherlock could pretend that he was interested in observing the 'common people' who chose to spend their Saturday night at the circus all he wanted but to Mycroft it was clear that the nine year old was genuinely excited to be there. He was looking around with wide eyes at the busy arena- the bright colours and stalls selling candyfloss ice cream and popcorn- and bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. It was because Sherlock seemed so excited that Mycroft had agreed to take him here despite the fact that thinking about the circus, or rather what was likely to be at the circus, gave him a weird shiver down his spine.

"Come ON Mycroft, we're getting food" Sherlock growled and tugged him towards the candyfloss. Mycroft sighed and followed reluctantly, trying not to look at the clown on the poster nearby.

 

"And what a fantastic performance that was from Lady Hilary, our very own opera singing turtle!" the ringmaster cried and Mycroft almost groaned out loud. The show was (thankfully) almost over, and it had been clear from the first three minutes in which a tight rope walker had fallen off and hit a tumbler that it was going to be dreadful. Most of the performers didn't seem to be much older than Mycroft, and he wondered whether they had actually received any training.  
On the other hand, Sherlock had gotten completely into the spirit of the show, yelling and clapping and standing up in his seat. This confused Mycroft as he'd thought his brother's taste was more refined than this- apparently he was still a lot more childish than he let on.

"Next up, in our final act of the show, we have someone who'll make you giggle all the way home" promised the ringmaster. "It's the talented, hilarious, straight-" he paused to chuckle- "out of school Grrrrrrrrrrrregory The Clown!"

Clown.

Mycroft had been scared of clowns for as long as he could remember. He didn't like their painted faces or their voices. There was something creepy about the way you didn't know anything about who was there underneath it all: there may be a psychopath or serial killer under the make up and massive shoes and Mycroft didn't want that kind of person anywhere near him. Maybe he'd seen too many horror movies- he was embarrassed by this secret phobia but he just couldn't help that they terrified him. And now his fingers curled more tightly in his lap in anticipation of what was coming.

Sherlock hadn't noticed; he was leaning foreword in his seat with a massive grin on his face as the Clown strode into the middle of the ring.

"Hey guys" smirked the Clown, his painted face twisting grotesquely. "What's the difference between a guitar and a fish?"

Mycroft tried very hard not to think about how the clown was probably going to murder him in his sleep with a rusty knife but it was difficult. The Clown chuckled suddenly and Mycroft jumped.

"You can't tuna fish!" yelled the Clown, and the audience erupted into laughs and groans.

The Clown was fiddling with some comically large machine and Mycroft waited with baited breath. If it attacked, he'd have to get Sherlock out first- his mind ran through possible scenarios and their escapes as the Clown triumphantly pressed a pump and- was he blowing up balloons?

He was. He inflated a pink one, then twisted it into the shape of a dog with difficulty. "Who wants this one?" he asked, his hideous painted smile leering at Mycroft. A little girl ran on stage to collect the balloon- "NO!" Mycroft wanted to shout. "GET AWAY FROM IT!"

He made more and more balloons and Mycroft got more and more tense, mesmerized by the bright shapes on his baggy dungarees. He panicked when he felt Sherlock slip away from him to get a balloon animal and sat frozen with horror, almost crying but unable to do anything until the child came back to sit next to him.

When the Clown had finally managed to give a balloon to virtually every kid in the circus, Mycroft offered a silent prayer that he'd just go away. Instead, he turned to the audience and raised his arms.

"Is there a willing volunteer in the audience for a little magic? Perhaps an.. adult?"

"Ooh!" Sherlock hissed. "Go on, Myc!"

Before he could stop him, Sherlock had pushed Mycroft to his feet. He froze in alarm for a few moments as the nine year old tugged him to the front, closer to the Clown and then began to panic as he realized he was expected to go on stage with that Thing. Sherlock hadn't noticed anything was wrong and was laughing in excitement at the chance.

"Well hello!" the Clown beamed. "What a pretty young man, isn't this a treat! What's your name?"

"M-Mycroft" he mumbled, shrinking as far away from the Clown as he could.

"It's lovely to meet you, Mycroft. I'm going to need you to sit on this chair if you don't mind, and we'll do some magic"

Mycroft gulped and nodded, knowing that Sherlock would be disappointed if he followed his instinct and made a run for it. Not to mention he was in front of over 100 people, another of his little phobias.

The Clown touched the back of his neck and Mycroft jumped. He was sweating and he knew the Clown could probably tell this, probably feel how badly he was trembling.

"Now, if you don't mind, lovely, I'd like you to close your eyes for me" the Clown murmured and Mycroft squeezed his eyes shut with a whimper. This was it, the Clown was about to slit his throat or strangle him with his warm, soft hands.

He shut his eyes and waited. He counted 8 seconds and was about to hit nine when suddenly, his face came into contact with something cold and wet. He blinked and spat custard pie out of his mouth, slowly wiping the rest off his face. He'd deduced that this might happen- apparently a common theme in circus was to humiliate audience members of the public by throwing custard pies at them. He supposed it was better than being murdered.

The audience was laughing and clapping and the Clown took a bow. Mycroft was relieved: he'd made it and was going to get away from the Clown.

"Thanks to Mycroft for being a good sport!" the Clown announced. The show was over; people were flooding out of the tent. Sherlock hopped up on stage with them.

"You look ridiculous" he chuckled. "Come on, let's go home"

Mycroft began to get up hastily but the Clown put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "Or.. you could come backstage and I'll clean up your face off for you." The Clown's voice sounded different, like an actual person instead of a terrible nightmare man.

"Um... sure" Mycroft said, cursing the social awkwardness that prevented him from saying no. The Clown led him and Sherlock backstage and Sherlock quickly found a chest full of magic tricks which he opened with glee, vowing to figure out how the magician from the first half had done his acts.

Mycroft followed the Clown to a dressing room, strangely beginning to lose the feeling of dread in his belly because the Clown was acting quite human, and sat down on a box. The Clown disappeared into the shower and there was the sound of running water for a few minutes before he reappeared with his face clear from make up.

He was quite attractive, actually. His mouth looked pink and soft without the painted on lips, his hair long and brown although it was wet at the moment and his eyes.. how could Mycroft not have noticed before that his eyes were this big and warm and brown?

"Heya" he smiled and Mycroft tore his gaze away from his face long enough to notice that the Clown had, thankfully, changed out of colourful dungarees and into jeans and a jumper. "Sorry about the custard pie, shall I get it off?"

Mycroft nodded silently.

The Clown produced a sponge (from the cabinet, not via magic or out of Mycroft's ear or anything, which was a relief) and began to gently wipe away the pie from his face. Mycroft sat rigidly still, trying to ignore that his heart was pounding and it wasn't from fear anymore.

"Are you alright?" asked the Clown softly.

Mycroft swallowed thickly.

"Just cos.." continued the Clown "you seemed a bit scared earlier"

"I'm a little afraid of clowns" Mycroft admitted softly.

"Yeah?" said the Clown. "Well I'm really sorry if I scared you. I'm Greg, by the way. Clowning's just a job for me, something to do to earn a little money on the side until I'm done with school. I promise I'm a reasonably normal person underneath it all"

Mycroft laughed a little. "I'm afraid I cannot guarantee the same. I am, after all, terrified of something small children invite to their birthday parties"

The Clown cracked a smile at that. It was considerably less eerie when his mouth wasn't smeared with red paint.

"Uh, Mycroft?" he asked. "I was wondering if maybe you'd like to go out sometime. As in, go out with me. I, uh, I'd be dressed like this and not like a clown"

Mycroft blinked, not quite understanding what was being asked of him. Then he realized in a rush that he was being asked out and he was expected to say something in return.

"Um, yes, yes if you're sure" he stammered. "That would be nice"

"Great!" grinned Greg, brown eyes lighting up. "Er, I'll see you around then. And I won't tell your brother we're going out.. or that you don't like clowns"

 

When Mycroft left the circus, an excitable Sherlock clinging to his arm, it was with a smile on his face from having faced his fears- and a cute boy's phone number tucked away in his pocket.


End file.
